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linguistic karma

I guess that confused with bronchitis virus is not anybody dead, but what I have gone wrong. Opened last week at my house with a range of diseases. First, my child, my daughter and then finally me. I self-diagnose the same virus that had taken my children and I lay in bed fevers and sweating read Yehoshua Kenaz. I moved pages and pages delusional. Given that my ability to read Hebrew is a bit rudimentary, I was amazed how quickly I was devouring the leaves. I did a test to see if I had opened a third eye to read Hebrew literature and grabbed a long story of Amos Oz. I moved quickie too, but not a mile a minute as Kenaz. Kenaz could dispense altogether with the dictionary: imagine if the adjectives were positive or negative, the shares look as through a veil, descriptions of landscapes mean barely understood half the words. Amid the fever, I was wondering if Yehoshua Kenaz would be a good writer. If it was normal was reading so without a dictionary. His characters moved me, though. I could see them and say yes, it's true, then so are some old ones that do not stop putting on lipstick and touched up a stiff hair. And yes, it is true, so are some old who can not hear, who live isolated in the hearing of stubbornness and not physiological. Most notable in this novel about old is that actions are developed in the present. If I had written a novel about old, had fallen into the quicksand of memories, past, memory. A painful and truthful novel about old should be told in this history. I usually smear

action in the swamps of the past.

A golden marsh.

My novel is almost ready. It was assumed that this week end corrections, but the range of diseases opened in my house, I said. As I self-diagnosed a virus, supposed to be better now and I would finally read my novel of a single pull, but no. A rumble in the chest would not let me sit and read anything and my mother's voice on the phone I was running to the doctor. "What if what you have is bronchitis?" - I asked. Mothers do not need to look closely or to diagnose children. The doctor confirmed: a double ration of antibiotics and codeine. "Are you sure you do not have a fever? "- he asked his old sailor's face. I can not help but see it as a sailor since he told me to pay for her career had worked on cargo ships and spent several times for La Guaira. As there is a want to get into this swamp last imagine in a bar in La Guaira drinking liquor with other sailors or the cable car up with some fresh Caracas known. It was a time of economic hardship in Israel and Venezuela seemed to my doctor the metaphor of debauchery .

There are some wetlands that call.

Since I know that my doctor was in Venezuelan port, I see another face. And since he knows that I'm Venezuelan also looks different. It is as if we came from the same swamp. As if there was a point where our past are though when he was in La Guaira I was not born. There is a point where we know - I guess I assumed it.

He knows where I come and I know where he's been .... with all these assumptions, I can write a novel muddy.

I deleted several swamps of my novel, to see if the stock moves up and despite the mud weight. Somehow I can say that in the end, but until the lungs stop me purr I can not read it in one go and I say here. Could read and purr at the same time, but I do not know why disruptive. I guess it requires good lungs to read in one sitting. It also requires a very good mood to correct a novel. I just get depressed, I want to erase everything. Just hurts my lungs, I think it's because I'm discouraged and I can not imagine even bronchitis.

I guess nobody dies of bronchitis unattended, but what upset.

Some advice for anyone who has finished writing a novel and is available to correct it: 1 .-

never corrected with bronchitis. 2 .- There
marshes calling, but be careful because they are quicksand. 3 .- Remove
unscrupulous swamps, but occasionally succumb.
4 .- A true novelist knows when they succumb to remove the winding marshes of the past.
5 .- Do not treat, much less self-diagnose.